Conrad was not watching the slow walk toward death in the street. He was sitting quietly beside his mother's bed.
Charles Dutton was watching from the hotel, a faint smile on his lips.
'Ride out of here, Kid,' Frank called. 'Don't throw your life away for nothing.'
'It ain't nothin' to me, Morgan,' The Kid called.
'Boy, the day of the gunfighter is nearly over. And as far as I'm concerned, it's past time.'
'What's the matter, Morgan?' The Kid taunted. 'You gettin' old and yeller?'
_Getting old, for sure_, Frank thought. _He's damn sure right on one count._ 'Don't be a fool, boy. You know better than that.'
'Frank Morgan done lost his nerve,' The Kid yelled. 'By God, it's true. You beg me to let you leave and you can ride out of here, Morgan. Beg for your life, old man.'
_The Kid's been drinking_, Frank thought. _Where else would he get such a silly idea?_ 'Forget it, boy,' Frank called. 'That won't happen.'
The distance between them was slowly closing. Little pockets of dust were popping up under their boots as they walked toward sudden death and destiny.
'Why don't you draw, old man?' The Kid yelled. 'Come on, damn you. Pull on me!'
'It's your play, Kid,' Frank said calmly. 'You're the one challenging the law here in town. I'm ordering you to give this up and ride on out.'
The Kid suddenly stopped in the middle of the street. Frank stopped his walking. There were maybe fifty or so feet between them. Plenty close enough.
'Suspenseful,' Louis Pettigrew muttered. 'I never knew it could be like this.'
'Insane,' Mayor Jenkins muttered, watching from inside his bank. 'When is this going to stop?'
Angie stood in the doorway of her cafe, a just poured cup of coffee forgotten in her hand.
Undertaker Malone was watching from an alley. He was taking a much needed break from his work. The bodies of that day's tragic events were still stacked up inside his parlor and outside behind his establishment. Many had already been buried without benefit of Malone's services.
Willis was watching from his general store. He had sent his wife and kids into the rear of the store, safe from any stray bullets.
'Draw on me, you old bastard,' Kid Moran yelled, 'so's I can kill you and have done with this.'
'Drag iron, son,' Frank replied. 'I told you this is your play.'
The Kid stared at Frank, then shook his head. 'You yeller son of a bitch!' The Kid hollered. 'You're afeared of me. I knowed you had a yeller streak up your back.'
Frank waited, silent and steady -- a man alone in the middle of the street, the tin star on his coat twinkling faintly in the last rays of late-afternoon sun. Frank sensed The Kid was getting nervous, and that emotion would be a plus for him.
'What's the matter, boy?' Frank called. 'You sound real edgy.'
'Ain't nothin' the matter with me, you old fart! Are you gonna draw, or rattle that jaw of yourn?'
'I keep telling you, boy, it's your play. Are you deaf, or just plain stupid?'
'Goddamn you!'
Frank waited patiently.
Someone standing in the doorway of the saloon laughed.
The Kid cut his eyes away from Frank for just a split second. 'Are you laughin' at me?'
Frank could have drawn and fired during the half second The Kid had averted his eyes. But he didn't. Frank really didn't want to kill The Kid. He knew, though, that The Kid wasn't about to give him any other option.
The Kid settled that quickly. 'You damned yeller belly. I'm countin' to three. You better draw on me, Morgan. Sometime durin' the count. If you don't, that's your hard luck. It don't make no difference to me nohow. I'm gonna kill you anyways. I'm tared of all this jibber jabber.'
'You're under arrest, Kid Moran,' Frank called, making what he knew he had to do legal.
'Huh? I'm whut?'
'You're under arrest'
'Whut charge?'
'Threatening the life of a peace officer. Now come along peacefully or suffer the consequences.'
'You go to hell, Morgan!'
'That's the last chance I'm giving you, boy.'
Kid Moran cursed and grabbed iron. He just thought he was quick on the shoot. Frank beat him to the draw and shot him in the belly.
'Damn!' The Kid gasped, doubling over. But he held on to his gun.
'Drop your gun, boy!' Frank called.
